


Girls Make Passes at Boys who Wear Glasses

by VictoriaPyrrhi



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Glasses, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaPyrrhi/pseuds/VictoriaPyrrhi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul's got a wire-rimmed secret he's been keeping. Maka's going to<br/>find out what it is even if it turns her into a neurotic mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Got a secret can you keep it?

Chapter 1: Got a Secret, Can You Keep It

* * *

  
  
Soul's got a dirty little secret. Well, he's got several, but this one is far more precious to him than the porn stash hidden in his dress shoe box or even the fact that he knows how to play "Piano Man" by heart and has untold numbers of Disney lyrics buried in his slacker brain.   
  
"Hey Soul, you coming?"    
  
He looks over at his meister and gives her a little wave. "Nah. I'm gonna pass. I'll catch you back at home."   
  
Maka gives him a glance, eyebrows knit together in something like worry and unsurety. "Are you sure?" she asks, half poised to follow after Tsubaki.  
  
"Go on," he grins and gives her a little verbal push. "Maybe if you eat enough ice cream, your tits'll get bigger." He watches her face redden, and congratulates himself on doing an expert job pissing off his meister even as he rubs at the goose egg that's started to form. If that doesn't get her off his ass for the next couple of hours, then he's fucked anyway.   
  
Soul waits long enough to make sure that the girls are well on their way, Maka's seething fading as their souls gain some distance. As soon as he's sure they're gone and not coming back, he hops on his bike and heads towards his appointment.   
  
There is something to be said for being a weapon, for working with and for Shibusen. Doctors visits, for instance, are free. Unfortunately, that's only applicable if you use the Shibusen approved doctor. As Soul pulls up in front of the decrepit, stitched together laboratory, he can't help but lament that the only Shibusen approved doctor is apparently Stein.   
  
He parks, and the doors to the lab swing open. He swears this place just gets creepier every time he comes here. Marie greets him with a smile and a nurse's outfit, and an offer of tea. Soul doesn't accept as such, but apparently Marie takes his wide-eyed stare as a "yes."   
  
He waits awkwardly on the couch and contemplates whether or not scalding his eyes out with the tea will be an effective way to both get him out of this appointment and to erase any stray thoughts about why Marie is wearing a nurse's outfit in the first place. In the long run, he’s probably safer just drinking the tea. Who the fuck knows what kind of crazy shit Stein would try if Soul blinded himself.  
  
Soul realizes about halfway through his cup of tea that he’s a nervous drinker and now he has to take a piss; he’s about to get up when Marie pops her head back into the living room with a cheerful, “The doctor will see you now!” Soul looks longingly at the bathroom door, but decides that he’d rather get this over with as fast as possible.  
  
Marie shows him into the now familiar workroom and leaves him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, waiting for Stein to acknowledge his continued existence. The doctor seems very intent on the gadget he’s fiddling with.  
  
“You’re here again?” he asked, peering over his shoulder. “Eyes?”  
  
Soul winces. _So uncool_. “Yeah. My glasses got smashed up.”  
  
“ _Again_?”   
  
Soul doesn’t have to see the inquisitive eyebrow to know that it’s there. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Can we just get this over with?”  
  
Stein makes a noise in the back of his throat that could be a chuckle or the beginnings of a psychotic break. Soul’s not sure which would be preferable at this point. “Of course we can.” Stein turns around fully, and Soul can see what he’s been tinkering with. It looks like the world’s worst piece of headgear, and he backpedals away from Stein.  
  
“The fuck is _that_?”   
  
“This? Oh, just a little redesign of mine. You’re going to put it on your head!” Soul doesn’t like the sound of that one bit--are those _screws_ on that thing? “You’ll be fine. Don’t squirm.” Before he knows what’s happening, Stein’s got the helmet-cum-torture device plopped onto his skull, and Soul is effectively blind. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Stein adjusts a few of the screws, and Soul remains frozen, lest something pierce his brain. He’s thought a lot about how he might die one day, and he _really_ doesn’t want it to be in Stein’s lab.   
  
“So, uh,” he starts, desperate to distract himself from what’s going on around his skull. “What’s up with Marie?” The doctor pauses for a moment.  
  
“Hm. You mean with the--” Stein makes a gesture that Soul can’t see.  
  
“The outfit? And the whole doctor’s office schtick?”  
  
“Well, this _is_ a doctor’s office, technically--Marie seems to think a certain amount of decorum is required since you made a special house call for your appointment, instead of a trip to the school’s facilities.”  
  
“Huh. Well then.” Soul’s not entirely sure how to respond to that one.   
  
“Plus I think she really likes the uniform,” Stein makes a few more adjustments around his skull and some noises that Soul is at a loss to interpret. Still, it’s better than trying to contemplate Stein’s words.  
  
A thought that has been worrying away at the back of his mind belatedly asserts itself. “Are you sure you’re qualified to be doing this? Just what are you a doctor _of_ , anyway?”  
  
“Oh, this and that.” There is a _click_ close to his ear, and suddenly, Soul can see again. Stein’s grin is a little fuzzy. “Now, Soul, one or two?”  
  
The actual exam doesn’t take very long, especially once Soul realizes that Stein’s rigged up eye-equipment is probably not going to explode or result in impromptu brain surgery.   
  
“I can get you a new pair of glasses in about an hour,” Stein offers, jotting down something on his chart.   
  
Soul’s impressed in spite of himself. “Really? Only an hour?” That would make his life so much easier, even if it meant hanging around here for a while longer. It would also mean not having to make up another excuse for going back out without telling his meister just _where_ he was going.   
  
“Yes. I’ve got everything on hand, and your prescription hasn’t changed. Shouldn’t take long at all.”  
  
“Don’t I like, pick out frames or something?”   
  
“No,” Stein smiles at him placidly. “I’m afraid we only have one style here.” He adjusts his own glasses and Soul cringes.   
  
“Do I _have_ to get frames from you?”  
  
“You do if you want them to be free.”  
  
 _Goddammit_.

* * *

  
  
Maka hears the rumble of Soul’s bike as she’s finishing up her homework. She’s out of her chair before she’s even aware of what she’s doing, and she stops herself before going into the living room. It’s embarrassing how much of a Pavlovian response she’s developed when it comes to that bike.   
  
She stands awkwardly in the middle of her room for a moment, waiting until she hears the clomp of his steps and the bang of the door shutting. Then she waits a moment more, uncomfortably aware of her curiosity as to where he’s been and how badly she wants to rush out there and ask him and greet him. She kind of makes herself ill sometimes.  
  
It shouldn’t matter that she’s got the teensy tiniest (enormous engulfing) crush on her weapon. These things happen, and she’s not all that surprised. Soul’s a good guy, loyal and honest, if a bit abrasive and gruff at times. She’s abrasive and gruff herself, so it doesn’t bother her so much. She’s _fine_ with being friends, which is why, she tells herself, she’s standing in the middle of her bedroom and not already in the living room.  
  
Maka takes a deep breath and exits her room finally to find Soul’s already disappeared straight into his room. It’s not unusual, but it irks her, especially after he blew everyone off this afternoon for some _as yet unknown_ reason. She shrugs off her irritation and knocks on his door.  
  
“Hey Soul, I’m going to start on dinner. Whadya want?”  
  
There’s a muffled curse from the other side of the door. “Ah, I’m cool with whatever, Maka.” She glares a little at the door, but shuffles off to the kitchen. She’s too hungry to press the issue for the moment.  
  
She stares at the fridge for a moment. Her level of giving a shit is pretty low, so she starts up the oven and pulls out the rare frozen pizza they’ve got stashed away. She shoves the pie in the oven and snags a book from her room to read as she waits for her partner to come out and for dinner to be done.  
  
He comes out nearly twenty minutes later and ruffles her hair a little as she sits, curled up on the couch. “Pizza?”  
  
“Yeah. Nothing else looked good.”  
  
He hums, pleased, under his breath and checks on the pizza. “Crust’s getting brown.”  
  
“Well if it’s done, take it out.”   
  
He gives her a little grin. “But isn’t it your night to cook?” Maka sits up and gives him a hearty glare.  
  
“I hardly think that you pulling dinner out of the oven will constitute a serious breach in dinner etiquette, Soul.”  
  
“I dunno--” he teases. She hopes he’s teasing at least, because the alternative would indicate that he’s being a severe brat, and he’s not been that bad since the first couple of months they started living together. Maka growls a little under her breath, but gets up anyway, only to find Soul in the process of taking out the pizza anyway.  
  
Logically, this should have made her pretty pleased, but instead all she can feel is her irritation with him rising. Even without Soul Perception, he can feel it coming off his meister in waves. She snatches the pizza cutter from the drawer and nudges him out of the way with her hip.   
  
“‘s there something wrong?” he asks, pulling down a couple of plates. She viciously rolls the slicer across the pan and thinks. She’d like to tell him why she’s irritated, but at the same time, she knows that it’s stupid, and that she’s overreacting. She’s not even sure _why_ she’s mad, just that she is and it’s sort of with Soul and sort of with herself and sort of with everything.  
  
“Nothing’s the matter. I’m just in a bad mood.” She settles on this because it is effectively, if simplistically, the truth. She divvies up the pizza half and half and flops back down on the couch with her plate. Soul joins her a moment later, and turns on the TV, effectively dropping the subject. If she’s going to ignore whatever it is that’s actually bothering her, then he’ll just wait it out.   
  
He doesn’t want to face the mountain of homework waiting for him in his room, but Maka’s bristling silence isn’t much of an improvement--to the point at which he’s genuinely considering sucking it up and doing his work.  
  
“What did you end up doing this afternoon?” She says it casual-like, but she doesn’t look him in the eye, just keeps her vision trained on the TV. There is a feeling in the pit of her stomach as she asks, squirmy and unsettling, her brain in a hyper state of quantum-need-to-knowness. Soul gives her a wary look out of the corner of his eye.   
  
“Had an appointment.”   
  
She stiffens almost imperceptibly, but Soul knows his meister, and imperceptible for most people is GLARING RED DANGER SIGN when it comes to Maka and him. Perhaps blase hadn’t been the best way to handle that question.  
  
It’s killing her, not knowing, even if it isn’t technically any of her business and she doesn’t _want_ to be this nosy, needy, nagging creature-- “Oh? What kind of appointment?” She sounds like she’s fishing--hell, she _is_ fishing and she knows it. But she tells herself that at least this way she’ll _know_ and once she _knows_ she can let it go and stop letting it eat away at her. He’s not replying though, and she hazards a quick dart of her eyes to assess the situation. He looks torn. What could there be to be torn about? It’s a simple question, she thinks, and then slaps a hand over her mouth because _thinking_ had translated into _unable to keep her big mouth shut_.   
  
His knee-jerk reaction is to tell her that it’s none of her business. Except that it kind of is her business because she’s his partner and more importantly, she’s his friend and his roommate, and you’re supposed to tell your friend/partner/roommate when you have to do things like go to the fucking doctor. You’re also probably not supposed to hide the fact that you have to wear reading glasses from them, either, but it’s far too late for that.   
  
He thinks about telling her he had a date, but he can’t even imagine how she would react to that--she’d probably laugh in his face. He can’t imagine that anyone who knew him would buy that particular fabrication--might as well tell her he’d been studying in the library. Soul keeps his face carefully neutral.  
  
“It was the kind of appointment that I had to keep,” he says, and maybe it comes out a little more standoffish than he had wanted, but his veins are running cold with apprehension. It’s not a lie, he tells himself, but it kind of still feels like one. He feels like he’s hanging on the edge of a precipice with no way down that doesn’t involve horrible spiky death as she stands. She takes her plate and beckons her hand for his, all the while keeping her eyes studiously on the TV. He hands it over and watches her disappear into the kitchen.   
  
The sinking feeling deepens. He tries to think of a way to make this not desperately awkward without sacrificing what might be the last vestige of coolness that he has. “Did I miss anything?” is what comes out of his mouth, and he cringes a little as he says it.  
  
In the kitchen, she laughs a little, and it completely fails to make him feel any better. “Pattie got a french fry lodged up her nose. And then lodged two up Black*Star’s nose in retaliation for him laughing at her.”   
  
He chuckles a little at that. “I’m sorry I missed that.” He cranes his head around to look at her and catches her staring at him. Soul offers up a small smile. “If I could have missed my appointment, I would have.”  
  
Maka wants to believe him, but why won’t he just _tell her_ , dammit? She knows he’s trying, though--that, despite all they have been through, he’s still an intensely private person, and she’s getting upset at nothing. She will leave it alone, it doesn’t matter-- “Will you tell me what the appointment was for?” Maka strongly considers investing in some duct tape. She has apparently lost the ability to control her own mouth.  
  
“I’d really rather not.” There’s something in his face, in his voice, but she can’t quite figure out what it is, and she’s terminally frustrated with herself for being like this.   
  
“Ok,” she replies. It comes out terse as she tries to reign in the strange pressure in her chest. “I’m going to bed,” she adds because if she doesn’t get away, doesn’t get a chance to compose herself and get her shit together, she’s going to be a hot mess, and she doesn’t need or want Soul to see that. He’ll take it to heart when it isn’t even his fault.   
  
Maka doesn’t look back as she slips into her room and shuts the door quietly behind her. Soul slams his head quietly into the arm of the couch.  
  
“God _dammit_.”

* * *

  
  
Soul’s got a headache that he wants to blame on his homework. He glares at the innocuous box on the corner of his desk, then sighs. It’s pointless to try and resist. If he wants even a vague chance of passing and _not_ having Maka beat the bejesus out of him, he needs to turn in some homework.  
  
And to do that--he pulls out his new glasses.   
  
“I hate you,” he says. They glint mockingly back at him in the light of his desk lamp. Soul wonders if it’s the light, or just a quality possessed by every pair of glasses made by Stein. He slips them on and watches the page come into sharp relief.   
  
His head throbs for a moment, eyes adjusting to sudden clarity. The page comes into focus, and Soul picks up his pen, ready for a different kind of headache. Time slips by, and he tries to concentrate on the words on the page, but being able to read his textbook and _wanting_ to read his textbook are two totally different things. His head dips down, eyes drooping. Dimly, he hears the faint click of his door opening.  
  
He’s upright in an instant, hands fumbling for his eternal shame. One hand latches onto his glasses and flings them away from him at lightning speed. They skitter across his bed and clack into the wall. Soul watches them teeter on the edge of his bedspread before they topple into the crack between mattress and wall.  
  
“Soul?”   
  
He exhales shakily. “Yeah?” He turns in his chair to give her a neutral look and hopes that he doesn’t look as stressed as he feels. That was close. Too close. His meister stands in his doorway, one hand unconsciously twisting in the other. He notes that and the way she ducks behind her bangs, and wonders why she’s so nervous.  
  
She stays in the doorway and he’s not sure whether to be glad or weirded out. Normally, Maka has no compunctions about invading his personal space. “I just wanted to say that I was sorry.”  
  
 _Huh?_ “Huh?”  
  
She lifts her head a little, green eyes shining and narrowed. “I’m sorry,” she says like repeating it’s going to magically make him understand what she’s talking about.  
  
“I heard that. What _for_?”   
  
“For earlier. I was being--” She’s got a list a mile long--nosy, irritable, a total spazzmo-weirdo-creepface-- “short with you,” she finishes. Her fingers twine into each other. Soul gives her a little smile, and Maka’s heart jumps a bit. He crooks a finger at her and beckons her forward and goddamn her feet, she’s walking into his room.  
  
Soul pushes away from his desk and stands, meeting her halfway. One warm palm rests on the top of her head and he ruffles her hair. “I dunno. You’re always a little short with me.”  
  
Part of her wants to laugh because _god what a dork_. She backhands him in the stomach instead and marches back out of his room.


	2. Swear this one you'll save

Chapter 2: Swear this one you'll save

* * *

He made her eggs.

It's the first thing she notices when she gets up Saturday morning. The second thing she notices is that it's 9am, and Soul is nowhere to be found. She feels a little guilty, like maybe she chased him off  _and_ made him feel guilty enough to cook for her before 9am on a Saturday because she's a bundle of neurosis.

She eats the eggs anyway. The fact that they're actually really good makes her feel even worse.

Maka doesn't know what has managed to get her weapon up and out of the apartment. Maybe he has another  _appointment_ , she thinks, and then immediately dismisses the thought. There is not a woman in the world that Soul would get up for at this time on a weekend. Not even her, she's pretty sure. With a groan, she rinses her plate and shoves it in the dishwasher. She needs to do laundry, she wants to clean up the apartment-might as well do those things while Soul's out. She needs to stop being jealous of stuff that she has no business being jealous of. Maka starts up the washer. As she goes for her laundry, she can't help but stare at his bedroom door, cracked just slightly. Maybe she'd finally pissed him off enough-

No.

Stop.

She peeks into his room, just in case. His bed is rumpled and unmade, and it makes her smile a little. So perhaps her words keep getting tangled in her head, wrapped around meanings that she can't express without giving herself completely away. If she can't apologize without being overwhelmed by the urge to beat the stuffing out of him, she can at least do his laundry. It needs doing anyway, and that is a thing that doesn't require her looking Soul in the eye.

Assuming, of course, she can find all of his laundry. There is a basket, she knows, kept behind the door. It's half full, with a little trail of socks and shirts and boxers strewn about his room. She thinks about giving him shit for it later, but that would be kind of counterproductive in the long run. Not to mention, she's got her fair share of scattered bras and socks decorating her floor. And bed.

She thinks she's got most of it when her eyes catch sight of the obnoxious orange t-shirt he likes to lounge around in flung across his desk.  _Geez, someone was in a hurry this morning_. She snatches the shirt and turns. There is a small clatter and clank, and Maka pauses, eyes drawn to a small cloth-covered box on the floor.

She must have knocked it over in her haste. Maka stares at it for a moment, contemplating whether or not she'll be able to bend down and pick it up without the mountain of loose socks sliding off her laundry pile and onto the floor. The soft click and whir of the washer cycle starting decides her, and she darts back into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, clothes hastily sorted and shoved into the machine, she's back, staring curiously at the little box. It isn't heavy. She turns it around in her hand. Little hinge, no lock or catch-if she didn't know any better-no, that's stupid, she would  _know_ -

"Hey, Maka?"

The front door shuts, and she jumps. Hastily, she puts the case back on Soul's desk and goes out to greet him. He stiffens a little at the sight of her exiting his room, but doesn't say anything.

"Hey; I started some laundry," she says with a small smile. His shoulders relax a touch and he returns her grin.

"Cool, thanks." He holds up a bag. "I couldn't sleep," he offers up. "I went for a ride and brought back some donuts."

" _And_ made eggs this morning? Must've been pretty bad."

Soul shrugs. "Mostly just really couldn't sleep." He doesn't mention that he woke up at 4 or that it was because of a dream that involved her. He skips over the part where he laid there for an hour before giving up on sleeping and making himself some breakfast, and how he'd never learned how to cook for one and made too many eggs as a result. "Thought a drive might help clear my mind."

He'd ended up somewhere on the outskirts of town, pulled off the side of the road, arms draped over the handlebars of his bike. He had watched the sun begin its daily loom over Death City, and all he could think about was how much Maka would have enjoyed it.

"Did it?" she asks, breaking into the donuts.

He bares his teeth in a grin, watching her accidentally snort powdered sugar everywhere. "Yeah, I think it did."

* * *

He folds his portion of the laundry when it comes out of the dryer, and Maka gives him a suspicious look.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Hah?"

She gestures at their clothes smothering the top of their kitchen table. "Usually I have to tell you like, a billion times to get your stuff out of the dryer."

Soul shrugs. If he doesn't get his laundry out, it ends up in a sloppy pile on his bed, courtesy of Maka. He thinks of the fact that she's already been in his room once today, and of the jury-rigged glasses case that Stein threw at him and their top-secret contents and that it's  _Maka_ and she can't keep her nose out of anything to save her life. He will never understand how such an obnoxious quality can be so goddamn endearing. "I don't want my shirts wrinkly," he replies.

Maka actually stops matching socks for a moment to place a warm hand against his forehead. "Are you  _sure_ you're not ill? You feel a little warm."

"You've been handling hot laundry-of course I feel warm," he mutters and decidedly  _does not at all in any way shape or form_ lean into her hand. Nope. Nopenopenope. She clucks at him under her breath, but withdraws her hand. He hopes that the flush he feels across his face isn't visible. Soul folds the last pair of his boxers and starts piling stacks of clothes in his arms.

"You want some help there?"

" _No_. No, it's cool, I got this," he blurts, and does an about-face, scurrying into his room. Socks cascade down the laundry slope, but he ignores them in favor of getting into his room as fast as he can. Maka stares at him and shakes her head, grabbing the escaped socks and trailing after him.

"You, ahhh-had some deserters," she announces from the doorway. In a way, it's fascinating to watch the way his entire back goes rigid at the sound of her voice. The little squirmy feeling is back in the pit of her stomach, and she wants to know what it is about her that he's started to find so uncomfortable that he avoids her gaze and looks like he's about to have a full blown panic attack every time she comes up behind him.

She hates that feeling, the irrational paranoia. She hurls little sock-ball missiles at Soul's head and turns before he can acknowledge her presence and subsequently dismiss her.

Soul dodges one pair of socks, but not the three that follow it.

* * *

She's beginning to contemplate sending Soul out of the apartment so she can actually clean. It isn't as though she's not happy he came back, just that she would like to be able to vacuum and dust without needing to move his feet every five minutes it feels like.

Obediently, he tucks bony knees and spindly legs up on the couch as she attacks the coffee table with lemony cleaner and a truly vigorous scrubbing technique that does kind of amazing things for her tits. Not that Soul is looking-it's just that her tank top is kind of gaping and things are...bouncing and-he buries his face in his hands.

"Is there anything that I can do?" he asks his kneecaps.

"Hm? No, it's fine. I've got it." She moves on to the tv stand next; Soul looks up long enough to determine that she's bending over for this particular chore, and thunks his forehead back onto his knees. She appreciates the offer, but there's something therapeutic in cleaning-it's soothing control, an immediate gratification of a job well done.

"Are you sure? I don't mind," he mumbles. He looks particularly pathetic sitting there, knees drawn up to his chin. It doesn't help that he constantly looks like he's about to start sneezing and never stop. Maka smiles a little, just a bit, where he can't see it.

"It's ok, Soul. Really. I've got it." Red eyes stare back at her, disbelieving. "Didn't Black*Star say something the other day about basketball?"

"Hn. Probably."

"You should go," she offers. "I'm just going to be stirring up more dust here." He blinks at her, soft afternoon light filters through the dust motes she's been disturbing. That thing in her chest clenches sharply, a physical pain. Soul props his chin on his knees.

"'s not the same without you there."

Maka can feel the heat rising in her face and bites the inside of her cheek. "What? But I don't do anything except stand around-" He's going to contradict her, she can tell by the stubborn set of his mouth. Instead, he sneezes and busts his nose against his knees.

" _Fuck_!"

* * *

She sends him out of the house with a tissue and promises that the dust will be cleared out by the time he gets home. Maka feels a little guilty for shooing him away, but he'll just keep sneezing if he stays, and she's always preferred to clean without an audience. She pops in a pair of earbuds and finishes up the living room with methodical efficiency. The kitchen and bathroom never know what hit them as Maka loses herself in her techno and the spray-wipe-scrub-wipe motion of cleaning.

The music and the mindless labor pulls her away from her head. There is no room for thought or worry, just the methodical destruction of dirt and a sparkling kitchen floor. She turns up the volume just a little as she pulls out the vacuum cleaner and begins her final sweep of the apartment.

She comes to Soul's door and stops dead for a moment, turning the vacuum off. The door is fully shut this time, but she's already got the vacuum out and he's not there to tell her to stop or to do it himself. With only a little bit of trepidation, she pushes open his door and starts up the vacuum again.

She fails miserably at not looking at Soul's desk. The case she knocked over this morning is still there, taunting her. She's been in Soul's room plenty of times before, but this is new and she's always been a curious thing. Maka runs the vacuum over his floor quickly and tries not to think about the mystery box. She moves his desk chair out of the way, cleans under his bed swiftly, gets the corners of his domain.

The whir of the vacuum cleaner dies down, and Maka's left with thudding bass in her ears and that case on the desk. This constitutes some level of abuse of trust, she thinks, but the case is in her hand. She turns it over, but there's nothing really remarkable about the thing, just the mystery that it represents.

She stops thinking, and the box is open in her hands. It takes her dumbfounded brain a moment to catch up with the sight before her because it makes no sense. Maka blinks. Are those-surely not. She traces a finger along familiar rims. Why the fuck does Soul have a pair of Stein's glasses?

Quietly and quickly, she snaps the glasses case shut and puts it right back where she found it.

Maka spends the rest of the afternoon in a strange sort of daze. She can't figure out the glasses; she tries to wrap her overloaded nerd-brain around the concept, but only ends up giving herself a headache. She supposes that there's always the possibility that Soul wears glasses, but she would  _know_ , right? There would be no way to hide such a thing from his partner for so long, would there? Maybe he wears contacts. That thought doesn't sit with her much better.

When Soul calls her around six and asks her if she wants to join everyone else for dinner, she's still rolling it around in her head. She agrees to meet them at the diner and toes on her shoes, vowing to put the mystery of the glasses out her mind.

-A resolution which lasts about as long as it takes her to jog to the diner and lay eyes on her weapon through the large picture window. He sits there with a faint grin on his lips as Liz dodges a fry hurled by Pattie, and Black*Star begins to blow bubbles in his shake. The grin turns into outright laugh as the blue-haired menace gets strawberry shake lodged in his nasal cavity.

The worst part, she considers as she stands just outside of the restaurant watching her friends like a complete creeper, isn't necessarily the fact that she doesn't know  _why_ Soul has a pair of Stein's glasses, but that now she's faced with this concept that just won't go away. Soul in glasses. Soul. In. Glasses. The notion percolates through her brain as she pushes open the door.

Soul looks up the moment he hears the bell on the door chime, eyes immediately shooting to hers, and unbidden, her brain begins to sketch little glasses over her partner's face. Her heart appears to be developing some kind of murmur. Should she get that checked out by Stein? Stein...glasses.  _Shit_.

Maka prays her face isn't as red as it feels as she makes her way over to the enormous booth her friends have claimed in the name of Spartoi. He slides out of the end of the booth and ushers her to sit down, and really her face  _has_ to be on fire. It feels like it's on fire.

"Soul, you don't have to-"

Her protest falls on deaf ears. "It's cool. I know you don't like being on the outside." He gives her a little grin, "Besides, I gotta go piss." Maka rolls her eyes, but slides into the space that her weapon had been occupying. In the interim, she hopes that she can gain control of herself and at least act like a functional human being.

"Hey Maka!" She looks up at Black*Star's voice with just enough time to squeak and dodge the fry he chucks at her.

"What the hell, Black*Star?"

"You look like your dog just died. What gives?" Maka resists the urge to smack her head against the table top. She must be extra obvious if Black*Star can pick up on it. She gives him a blistering scowl.

"I'm fine,  _thanks_. It's just been a long day. I cleaned the whole damn apartment, thank you very much." She senses her partner a heartbeat before he returns and gently nudges her over with his hip.

"I  _am_ sorry about that," he mumbles as she scoots over. "I would've helped out if I could've." He looks sheepishly at her, and she can't stop the small smile on her face. She prods him in the ribs with her elbow.

"It's fine. I would have rather done it all myself than have you sneezing all over everything I just cleaned."

It's not much of a smile, but it is a genuine one, and Soul feels a knot that he didn't even realize was there loosen in his chest at the gentle curve of her lips. He bares his teeth in a little grin of his own and tugs lightly on a pigtail.

"Brat. Making fun of me for my allergies," he teases. She sniffs lightly.

"Well, don't make it so easy, then."

The grin still lingers on her face as she teases him, and when their food arrives, courtesy of a very frazzled waitress, she doesn't even clock him on the head when he starts dipping his fries in her chocolate milkshake, though she does wrinkle her nose and declare him to be a disgusting food pervert. Soul chomps down on a milkshake-laden fry.

"Oh,  _ewww_ -" she pushes him away, laughing as he chews it noisily in her direction.

He can't quite bring himself to mind when she finally chops him on the back of the head. After all, she's still giving him that radiant grin, and he  _had_  been trying to steal her milkshake.

* * *

The drive back home is quiet, but that's less to do with Maka's sudden onset of uncontrollable nerves, and more to do with the loud rumble of the bike. She's not been scared of the motorcycle or (with a few notable exceptions) Soul's driving in years, but she finds herself wrapping her arms snugly around her weapon's ribcage. He's warm and smells like their detergent and something that is  _Soul_ that she's never fully been able to identify, and she tries desperately just to breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. Nice and slow and calm.

She loves their friends, but the socializing tonight-the active burden of acting like she's not got this strange information about her weapon is stressful in the extreme. Part of her would like to confront him, but there is a larger part which is stuck on the notion that, if he had wanted her to know, he would have told her. Why didn't he want her to know? Didn't he trust her?

Her brain is back to circling already well-worn ruts as they pull up to the apartment. Maka releases her hold on Soul and slides off the bike. He's not far behind her, and she finds herself staring at her weapon as he dismounts. She refuses to acknowledge the persistent voice in the back of her head insisting that her Soul in glasses would be a delicious treat because honestly, what kind of pervert is she? She's always had a little bit of a fascination with boys in glasses-as long as they weren't overbearing know-it-alls who thought they were better than she was-but she hadn't really thought about that in a few years. Not since she started staring at her weapon when he would walk through their apartment shirtless, at least.

She can feel her face heating up and hopes that this isn't going to be some kind of permanent fixture of her life now. Maka turns and enters their building, taking the stairs two at a time and not bothering to wait for her weapon. At least this way, she can claim that she's just out of breath if he asks why her face is red. Soul catches up as she's unlocking the door. He's winded, moreso than she is, which gives her a modicum of satisfaction.

"Maka-" he begins before she's even got the door shut, "is everything alright?"

She will not wince, she will not wince..."Yeah, of course, why do you ask?" It sounded forced even to her ears.

"Well, I dunno, maybe it's because you won't look me in the eye or how you're totally fine when we go out to eat with our friends, but then the minute we're alone, you go right back to avoiding me-"

" _I've_  been avoiding  _you_? I don't think that I'm the one here with avoidance issues going on, Soul."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He thinks that he already knows the answer. Maka's cheeks are red, and this time, he's pretty sure that that's anger coloring them more than anything else.

"I would think that would be obvious, Soul! I know you're not stupid. You're being secretive and mysterious and...and... _you're_ the one who's not looking me in the eyes anymore and I don't know what's going on and I don't know how to deal with this-"

His mouth gapes. "What?"

She's said too much, of that she's certain. But she sets her jaw nonetheless, arms crossing as she glares at him. "I'm really trying, Soul. I know you're a private person, and I'm trying really hard to respect that and not be nosy and up in your business but it's hard when all I want to know if what's going on and you look like you're about to run away from me everytime you're near me." She wants to yell at him, but instead it comes out something like a plea and sounding kind of petulant to her ears, and that little ball of self-loathing grows in her chest.

He stares at her, red eyes wide and oh god, she feels terrible. She doesn't want to be the kind of person who manipulates the people she cares about the most. She feels like she's going to be sick. He doesn't say anything, and she uncrosses her arms, shoulders slumping slightly. "Look, I'm sorry. I really-I just."  _Fuck_.

"IwasatStein's," he blurts out. Maka's mouth shuts with an abrupt  _click_ that he can hear across the room.

"S-stein's?"

"Yeah." He keeps red eyes trained on her, despite the increasingly strong urge to look anywhere but at her huge, slightly wary eyes. "I told you I had an appointment. It was at Stein's."

"Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

"Cause it's embarrassing, and I didn't want you asking me about it, and," he sighs, "I dunno, it's stupid, ok?"

That sickly sweet guilt taste is back in her mouth. It's worse somehow because  _he's_ the one who looks guilty. "No, it's fine," she says. "I'm sorry, I really wasn't trying to pry-"

"No, you've got a right to know-I just-it's really personal and embarrassing."

She thinks about the glasses sitting in a stitched together case on Soul's desk, and wonders if they're somehow related to this entire debacle. Soul's not sick that she can tell, unless maybe it's some kind of Deathscythe thing, or maybe, her heart stutters a little, some kind of...of  _guy_ thing?

She thinks she can understand. She wouldn't want to have to explain to Soul her intimate biannual lady-doctor appointments. He wouldn't have given her shit about them in the first place. God, she really is fucked in the head. She resists the urge to smack herself in the forehead. Instead, she gives him a small smile, and closes the distance between them. She promises herself that she'll work on not blowing shit out of proportion so quickly.

"I understand, Soul. It wasn't cool of me to get all worked up over something so stupid." She reaches out to him, but doesn't expect him to completely bypass her hand and go straight for the hug. She sinks into his embrace, grateful that his chest is perfect for hiding the way she flushes.

"I should've just told you straight away," he concedes. He wonders if she knows that the tips of her ears blush. If he tugs her a little closer than is strictly necessary, he does so purely in the name of science. Sure enough, the back of her neck is pink as well. "Besides," he says, pulling back but not releasing his grip. "I should've known better than to think I could hide something from you."

Maka can't quite tell if that's supposed to be a compliment or an insult, but he's giving her that smirk that makes her knees go pudding, and the warmth of his arms still seeps into her skin, so she takes a leap and assumes it's a compliment. She returns his smirk, though she knows hers is nowhere near as effective.

"Damn right you can't."

Soul wonders, some time later, if perhaps he'd inadvertently jinxed himself. He's not entirely sure he cares. The lack of strained tension between them is worth it all.


	3. Better lock it in your pocket

Chapter 3: Better Lock it in your pocket

* * *

Sunday is grocery day. Every week, without fail and barring a mission, they walk down to the store. Soul used to hate it. He claimed they looked stupid walking with totes on their arms and that they should have just taken the bike.

Maka had rolled her eyes and offered to carry all the bags down, as long as he helped carry them back. "It's only a couple of blocks, Soul. We don't need the bike for that."

He kind of enjoys their trips now. It's a nice routine-something they do together, without fail. This morning, he even grabs their bags without being asked. Soul finds himself in a strange place-last night made him feel as though something monumental had occurred between Maka and him. At the very least, they've smoothed things over and he hid that treacherous glasses case some place he can't imagine her looking.

Maka walks a few paces in front of him, and while he really doesn't mind the delicious, hip-twitching view he's presented with, mostly he's just pleased that she no longer looks like she wants to be anywhere else but near him. It's surprisingly pleasant.

Which really, should have given him some sort of clue.

* * *

Maka sees Marie first. In some sort of alternate universe, Soul likes to pretend that, if  _he_ had been the one to catch sight of her, this whole mess could have been averted. In reality, he knows better.

"Good morning, Marie-" his meister trails off, having fully absorbed their former instructor's outfit. Soul feels his blood chill.

"Oh, Maka, Soul, hello!" The blonde is incredibly cheerful for a Sunday morning and considering her hand basket is filled to the brim with first-aid material.

"Ah, hi," Soul mumbles, looking just about anywhere except at Marie Mjolnir and what appears to be her increasingly disturbing proclivity for nurse outfits. He wonders idly if this is something she initially learned from Nygus, or if she just wants to make Stein slowly lose his mind. Again.

Either way, he's having to avoid Maka's poorly concealed shock and Marie's poorly concealed tits at the same time. Marie is completely oblivious as she and Maka exchange pleasantries. He's even managing pretty well, distracting himself with the impressive array of gums and candies on display.

"Soul, is everything working out  _alright_?" Marie leans forward just slightly and tries to give him a conspiratorial wink. The eyepatch ruins the effect somewhat.

Soul's eyes widen as Maka turns and gives him a look that walks the fine line between curious and dangerous. "Wha-"

"You know, your  _appointment_  the other  _day_?"

Marie is approximately as subtle as her weapon form. He resists the urge to slam his head into the rack of candy. "Uh, everything's fine," he mutters. Maka's face clouds over, and he wants to throttle Marie and her well-meaning mouth.

"Oh! I'm so glad to hear that! I'm sure Dr. Stein will be pleased, too." Soul's pretty certain that Stein doesn't give two shits about whether or not Soul's glasses are working out, but he keeps his response to a noncommittal grunt and hopes she drops the subject.

"What's with all the supplies," Maka asks, neatly sidestepping Soul's problem. Marie gives the girl a wide smile.

"Oh, you know, just the normal restocking! We're out of all the basic essentials at the house-and we have another appointment today-Ox is coming by, isn't that a coincidence, Soul?"

It is as if with every sentence that drops out of Marie's mouth, Soul can actively feel himself sinking further and further into dangerous territory with his meister. She gives him another sharp, calculating look and he swears he can see the gears in her brain shift into overdrive.

"Uh, yeah. Coincidence."

Maka's eyes are guileless in a way that is positively uncanny. "Oh? Is everything alright with Ox?" How does she do that? It must be some kind of superpower.

Is his heart stopping? He thinks that it might be. Marie is going to spill the glasses beans and he is never, ever going to hear the end of it from his meister and their friends.

"Oh, it's nothing much, Maka, just a little  _check-up_." Marie tries to wink again, though Soul isn't sure who exactly it's supposed to be directed at. Maka's face scrunches up for a moment, and there is no way that the little gears in her head aren't putting all the pieces together in a way that is going to completely ruin him.

"Ah," she says, and it's his turn to blink. That's it? No revelation of his secret, no blackmail or shocked gasp? Maka gives him a speculative look, and not for the first time he wishes that he could see and interpret souls like his meister can.

Sometime between his heart bottoming out and his brain attempting to decipher Maka's mysterious look, Marie gives them a cheerful wave and leaves, scooting off to pay for a small hospital's worth of medical supplies. He stares at her exit, and Maka pokes him in the gut a little harder than is strictly necessary, and Soul winces, but follows along with his portion of their groceries.

Maka spends the entire walk back to their apartment with her brain in overdrive. Soul spends the entire walk back to their apartment becoming increasingly paranoid. By the time Soul unlocks the door, Maka feels like she might be the biggest idiot on the planet.

The glasses case. The  _glasses_. Ox.

She is seriously contemplating slamming her head into the wall. For being top in her class, Maka is convinced that she might be the stupidest person on the planet. She slams the door behind her, frustrated with her own idiocy, and Soul jumps at the noise, nearly dropping his grocery bag. She eyes him speculatively and follows him into the kitchen.

Soul can feel her staring at him. He almost drops the yogurt twice trying to put it in the fridge. Maka has been much too quiet since their run-in with "Nurse Marie," and now he wishes he had never told Maka he'd gone to Stein's. He's not sure what she's got brewing in her giant nerd brain, but her eyes are narrowed, and she's kind of glaring at him, and  _oh god_  what if she thinks he went to Stein's and got a inadvertent peep show from Nurse Wonder-tits and  _that's_ why he didn't tell her what he was doing and-

"Soul?"

He drops the OJ and nearly hits his head on the freezer door. " _Hah_?"

"Are you alright?"

He exhales shakily, still crouched in front of the fridge. This is so  _stupid_. Why did he ever think it was a good idea to hide his appointment from Maka? "Yeah, I'm fine, Maka."

"Are you sure? Because you've seemed really flustered ever since we ran into Marie," she says, putting away the crackers with studied nonchalance.

His hands are definitely trembling now. "Uh-"

"Cause, you know...if there was something that you wanted to tell me, it would be ok. I won't be mad."

She...wouldn't?

He stares, open-mouthed, and his continued silence is apparently too much for Maka to take. "Really, Soul. I  _know_ why you went to Stein's." She fixes him with a look that's part disappointment, part hurt, and he's about to completely roll over and spill all of the beans everywhere when she sighs heavily. "But if you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to make you."

Is this a trap? He thinks that it might be a trap, but he can't quite wrap his brain around the how and the why. Is Maka really ok with the idea that he was visiting Stein just to see Marie in a nurse's outfit? She can't be-

But she's giving him a small smile despite that unfathomable look in her eyes, and Soul groans. He's starting to give himself a headache. Maka finishes putting away her portion of the groceries, and announces, "I'll be in my room,  _reading_ , if you need me."

"Um. Okay," he mumbles. If he keeps his head in the fridge long enough, his face has to cool off, right?

* * *

She feels a little terrible, and a lot manipulative. But she doesn't understand what Soul's problem is. Having to wear glasses isn't something that he should be ashamed of. She doesn't understand why he would go through such lengths to hide it from her. On the other hand-she's kind of glad that he did. It's bad enough that the dream she had last was enough to make her blush for a week. She's not sure what she would have done if she knew Soul wore glasses this whole time.

Maka stares at the page in front of her. It isn't as though she doesn't already have a hard enough time keeping herself in check around her partner. He's criminally good looking, which is bad, but not enough on its own to make her lose her mind.

The real problem, she finds, is that he's also incredibly sweet and caring. In the weirdest, most awkward and frustrating ways sometimes, but she's learned over the years to decipher his words and gestures, and she is pretty sure that she's completely undeserving of such a partner. Completely against her will, she found herself trusting him implicitly. She doesn't even know when it happened.

Add to that this unfortunate fascination she seems to harbor for boys in glasses, and well...Maka sighs.  _Crush_ , she admits to herself,  _doesn't really cover it_. She's a goner.

She hasn't turned a page in almost a half an hour, and with a sigh and the faintest glimmerings of an idea in the back of her head, she peeks out of her doorway. The living room is silent, and she can see the faint light under the bathroom door and hear the shower turn on. Soul's door is open, and Maka stops thinking and darts across the hall and into his room. She glances at his desk, but doesn't see the glasses case immediately.

Maka grunts, frustrated. She rummages carefully through his desk and is about to crack open one of his drawers when she stops and shakes her head. _What am I doing? What's wrong with me?_ This is a gross violation of privacy just for the sake of proving that her weapon needs to wear glasses and-she spots the case halfway underneath his pillow. Torn, she stares at it.

She hears a  _thump_  and Soul's muffled, " _FUCK_!" She smirks a little, knowing that he must have hit his elbow against the wall again, right up until the point she realizes that that means he's out of the shower. Panicked, she fumbles with the case and snatches the glasses. Shoving them into the waistband of her yoga pants, she puts the case back as best she can and sprints for the living room.

Maka has enough time to fling herself onto the couch and grab the book she had been reading yesterday before the bathroom door cracks open and Soul emerges in a cloud of steam. Her heart thunders against her ribs, partially from the adrenaline rush, partially because her stupid partner refuses to put a shirt on after he gets out of the shower. She'd bitched at him about it once because it was  _rude_ and not at all because the sight made her knees feel weak and trembly. He'd just scowled at her and said that he didn't like his shirt getting wet right after a shower. She'd scowled right back, but he'd been adamant and completely blew off her protests, strutting around shirtless-as if the fact that it bothered her made him immensely pleased.

She is  _not_  checking him out over the top of her book, no matter how obscene his pajama pants look slung around his hips. She looks up long enough to notice Soul give her a shy smirk before disappearing into his room. Maka resists the urge to crawl under the couch.

* * *

The shower, despite his best intentions, doesn't solve all his problems. His brain is still jittery and unsettled-he can't stop thinking about Maka's face, her trust in him, the disappointed look she gave him. He runs a frustrated hand through damp hair.

To think this was all because of stupid Stein. And now Maka thinks his "appointment" was just a ruse to see Marie in her nurse's get-up, and she's miserable and disappointed in him and-Soul groans. It isn't worth it. He can stomach a little embarrassment for the sake of his meister, can't he?

The glasses case mocks him from under his pillow; he snatches it up and squares his shoulders, then marches back into the living room. She's still draped over the couch, long legs stretched out.

"Maka." She looks up from her book, face still a little pink, and he wonders if she knows she's trying to read her romance novel upside down. "We need to talk." Her eyes widen, and he feels something in his chest clench at the look on her face.

"Wha-" She sits up, her heart pounding. Did he find out that she'd been snooping? He doesn't look angry, but "we need to talk" is never good, is it? "Soul, I-"

"No, Maka, just...let me speak." The stiffness of her shoulders hurts him. "I-"

"Soul, it's ok, you really don't have to-"

"No, I really do. It's driving me crazy that you think I would be one of those guys, Maka."

She blinks, confused. "What?"

"It's not what you think, I promise. I just-I was so  _embarrassed_."

"Why would you be embarrassed, Soul! It's perfectly natural-"

He can't bear it anymore.

" _MakaIwearglasses_." It trips out of his mouth before he can stop it, and he stops, panicked red eyes meeting startled green ones. Before she can say anything, he fumbles for the glasses case. "I know I should have told you sooner, and it wasn't that I didn't trust you, I just thought it was so uncool and I didn't want you to think that I was less of a weapon because I had to have glasses and here, I can prove it." He pops open the case and stops suddenly, his heart dropping into his feet. It's empty.

He blinks, and from her spot on the couch, Maka stares at him guiltily. Almost reluctantly, she swings her legs to the floor and stands. He never bothered to put a shirt on, she thinks, and despite this, despite every instinct insisting that she run because this is her  _weapon_  and her  _feelings_ and nothing ever good came from mixing the two-except she's already in front of him and can feel the heat radiating off his bare skin and can smell his soap. She takes a deep breath and reaches into her waistband.

"I know," she whispers, and places the glasses on the bridge of his nose. His poleaxed expression would be completely priceless if she wasn't positive that this was going to be the end of their partnership. She never should have pried into his business, shouldn't have been that girl who can't cope with not knowing everything about her partner-everyone should be allowed to have their private things, and she had no right to-

She doesn't realize that her thoughts are spilling out of her mouth at an alarming rate until Soul gives her an exasperated, affectionate look and says,

"Maka,  _shut up_." Her mouth hangs open for a moment, and that's all Soul needs. Before he can talk himself out of it, he presses his lips against hers.

Maka hadn't spent a lot of time considering what her first kiss might be like-some passing fancy here and there, usually brought about by her weapon walking around shirtless or doing something unexpected and sweet. She knew that she didn't think it would be quite this awkward. She doesn't know what to do with his tightly pressed lips against hers. Does she need to do something with her tongue? What about her hands? Are Soul's lips always this dry? Is this what kissing is all about? It's nice enough, she thinks, but aside from the knot in her stomach twisting a little bit, she's not sure what the big deal is about.

Soul pulls away after a scant moment, his heart pounding. He cringes in anticipation of a world-class Maka chop, but, instead she just stands there and stares at him, lips still parted. "I'msorry," he blurts out. He'd almost prefer a chop to this deafening silence.

Maka blinks at him once, twice, her fingertips ghosting across her lips. Soul looks at her, terrified, red eyes huge over the rims of his glasses. "I don't think I did it right," she says, licking her lips. "Try again?"

He nods shakily and leans down again. This time she meets him halfway, tongue darting out to run against his lips. He parts his lips, leaning into her, and she presses back; their tongues tentatively slide against each other as he wraps one arm around her lower back. It's warm and kind of slick and wet and the knot in her stomach sinks and twists and pulls and  _oh_ , Maka thinks,  _this is what kissing is supposed to be like_.

Soul's palm is warm against her skin, tucked just underneath the hem of her shirt, and his chest is just a little damp from his shower still, but Maka finds that she doesn't care so much because his other hand is tangling in her hair and she can feel his heart pound against her. She wonders if he can feel hers just as easily. Maka pulls back this time, eyes searching his.

"Was that better," she asks, one hand sliding up to his cheek. He nudges into her palm unthinkingly, savoring the feeling of her fingertips against his skin. "Better" doesn't really cover it, as far as he's concerned.

Maka stares at him intently, waiting for an answer, and he can't help himself. "I don't know," he says, giving her a crooked grin, "I think I could maybe use a little more practice."

Her answering smile is met with another peck on the lips, this time a little more hurried as Maka slips her hand from his cheek and into still wet hair. He's going to have the worst cowlick later when it dries, but she thinks it's pretty cute, so she doesn't mention it. Instead, she murmurs against his mouth, "I think I could get used to this."

Soul presses his lips to the side of her mouth and along her jaw. "Would you like to?" he asks, breath hot in her ear. He doesn't  _think_ that she'll say no, but he can't help the way his heart stops beating for a moment, waiting for her reply. He resists the urge to push his glasses up on his nose.

" _Yes_."

He likes the way her face lights up and the faint blush across her cheeks.  _I am so gone_ , he thinks. It doesn't bother him as much as he thought it might.

* * *

Maka lounges on Soul's bed with a book while he's still hunched over his desk, scribbling away at his homework. It feels oddly natural, comfortable. She doesn't know if this is what being a girlfriend is like. How can you tell? She's never done this before. Aside from the kissing (which is getting better and better) and the touching (they'd always touched, but now there is skin to skin and soft gasps), not much really seems to be that different. She wonders if that's normal, or if she's overthinking things too much.

"Maaaakaaa." She looks up from her book guiltily, and from his desk chair Soul smirks at her. "I can hear you thinking all the way over here."

She scowls a little. "Shouldn't you be finishing your homework?"

His smirk widens, and she feels something in her guts flutter. "All done," he says, pushing his chair back. He stands, long limbs unfolding themselves, which would be distracting except that Maka's still staring at his face.

She recognizes that he's moving closer, but all she can think about are those stupid fucking glasses, still perched on his nose. They shouldn't be attractive, for god's sake. They're huge and round and, and... _Stein's_  glasses! That is  _not hot_. Except that apparently it is because she can feel her mouth getting drier as Soul gets closer.

"A-all done? Really?"

"Yep," he pops the "p" and she realizes suddenly that he's got one knee on the bed and is practically crawling towards her. Perhaps it isn't  _just_ the glasses, she thinks, heart pounding. He's grinning at her crookedly, eyes bright with mischief, and she realizes quite suddenly that she is deeply and profoundly in love with this boy-her weapon, friend, partner.

She's blushing when she says, "So, what? You think you deserve some kind of reward?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

Maka can't help her answering grin. "Well, maybe. Since you've been so studious." She taps the bridge of his glasses, then tugs the front of his worn t-shirt; Soul allows himself to be pulled down with a chuckle, elbows resting on either side of her head.

"I  _have_ been a good boy," he murmurs and then he kisses her. His lips are warm, if a little rough, against hers, and she tilts her head up, brushing her tongue against his mouth. Maka had always been a quick learner, and kissing was no exception.

She runs a hand through messy hair, pulling back just slightly to look at him. She brushes wild white strands back behind his ears, fingers lighting on the arm of his glasses. Grinning slightly, Maka pecks him on the temple, then the cheek-she gets the tip of his nose, then up to his forehead and across his other cheek until he growls and lunges to capture her lips. She can't help the small giggle that escapes as Soul teases her with searing kisses; her heart feels like it might explode from want. His mouth, she decides, is not enough.

She fists one hand in his hair, the other reaching back to grab his ass. Soul groans into her mouth as she pulls him flush against her. The sudden movement causes them to bounce slightly, the mattress squeaking under their combined weight. He's too busy trying to crawl into her skin to laugh, or realize that his glasses are perched dangerously close to the end of his nose until the damn things start to fall.

"Goddammit," he mutters. Maka snorts against his jaw and pushes the glasses back up his nose.

"Leave 'em on," she whispers, kissing wetly along his jaw and down his neck. He shudders against her, hips grinding into hers.

"I get it," he gasps. "You just want me cause of my brains."

"Mmm, how did you know?" She nips lightly at the base of his neck.

"I think you got a nerd fetish, Ma _haaaa_ -"

"I think it's just  _you_ ," she murmurs, grinding her hips against his.

He thrusts against her in retaliation, "I'm ok with that." He sets sharp teeth against her collarbone, and Maka squirms, nerves on fire.

Soul will never not be thrilled by the way his meister responds to him, her body arching underneath his-the way her hands dart under his shirt, slipping against his skin-she is as demanding in her affections as she is with her school work or on the battlefield, and he  _loves_ it.

Still, there is a part of him that worries. He knows her better than anyone else-knows how her brain works most of the time, knows her dreams, and most importantly, he knows her fears. He wants her, all of her, but he doesn't want to push her, doesn't want to see that spark of terror in her eyes when she realizes that he loves her. He's terrified of the moment when she freaks out because he wants forever.

He pulls back from her slightly, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Under him, Maka stares at him half-lidded, lips slightly swollen invitingly. He can hear her pants as he feels the rise and fall of her chest. He wants forever. It should scare  _him_ , much less scare her, but he doesn't feel scared. just a strange sense of calm.

"Soul?"

"Maka," he replies. She's unsure what to make of the piercing look in his eyes, the affectionate quirk of his lips-he looks so serious, and so, logically, she squirms against him. He growls lowly, one hand tracing down her side to grip her hip. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

She nods, the movement slight. She had wanted to lighten the mood, but she can feel herself falling quickly into this half-world that contains only them, their breath, their bodies rocking forcefully against each other; she wants to drive him crazy-at least as crazy as he makes her. Everything feels weighty and serious in a way that she wasn't expecting, but that isn't necessarily unwelcome.

Maka finds his ear, her voice sending lightning through the base of his spine. " _More_."

Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, everything is still. She can feel the heat of his hands, the way his body fits against hers-

The moment shatters as they both explode into movement. Maka arches into him as Soul slips his hand underneath the waistband of her pants and buries his face in her neck. They move together frantically, harsh pants breaking the silence of his room; Maka's hands scrabble at Soul's shirt, lifting and tugging. He whines as she pulls it over his head and he's forced to detach from her skin so she can fling it across the room.

She's already got her hands around his belt buckle by the time he figures out that he needs to sit up so he can retaliate. Maka follows him, nimble fingers snatching at the hem of her shirt. She yanks it up and over and chucks it before Soul can even process what's happening, and he shoots her a little glare for depriving him.

"Bra's all yours," she offers unabashedly, and her hands are on his skin once more, tracing his chest, feather-light across his scar.

He grumbles, but there's a smile dancing around his lips as he tugs her close. Soul tucks his chin over her shoulder, pressing small, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. He stares for a moment at the hooks and smirks. Confident, he drags his mouth along her shoulder and tugs down her bra strap, hand mirroring the movement on the other side. The breathy little moan she makes is worth  _everything_.

His fingers tangle with the catch as she finally unzips his jeans, and he fumbles, eyes clenching shut as she rubs her palm against his erection. She's never been this bold before, but she wants this, wants  _him_ , with a surety she usually reserves for fighting. The feel of him under her hand is exciting in a way she's unfamiliar with, and she wants to explore further, to see what noises Soul is capable of making.

It takes him longer to pop the clasp of her bra than he'd like, but in his defense, he's easily distracted by her curious hands; he pushes the offending garment down, intent on wrapping his mouth around a perky tit. With a sharp tug, Maka pulls him back down onto the bed. He gives her a cheeky grin and claims his prize. Maka isn't expecting the wetness of his tongue or the careful scrape of his teeth against her nipple, and it sends warmth pooling into her belly.

He stops at her sharp cry, eyes darting up to hers. She pants, tightening her grip on his hair. "Don't you dare stop," she gasps. Soul gives her a devilish grin and laps at the tight peak, enjoying the way she writhes against him.

He's not sure how she manages to get his pants off, or even when she wriggles out of hers. Soul is far too focused on the noises she makes, the soft whines and helpless gasps he can elicit with tongue and teeth and fingers. They are music to his ears.

Maka's hands never stop moving; she is fascinated with his skin, with the way his lean muscles twitch and contract beneath her fingertips, with the way he presses against her, as if he can't get enough of her skin on his. She knows the feeling. His hands are busy dipping below the worn elastic of her panties, and it takes everything she has to concentrate on the feeling of her legs pressing against his hips. Cool, dextrous fingers slipslide against her, and Maka cries out, legs tightening as she writhes. Never one to miss an opportunity, she uses her movement to slowly but surely coax Soul's boxers off his narrow hips.

She hesitates for only a second-she's never seen a penis in the flesh before, and the knowledge that this isn't just  _any_ penis, but that of her partner, is enough to make the blood rush to her face.

Pictures in science textbooks were not enough to prepare her for this reality.

Soul's thumb brushes across her clit as she's stuck contemplating cock, and she breaks out of her stupor and wraps her hand around Soul. He stills for a moment, and she gently tugs. A slight tremor runs through Soul and she can feel his breath catch in his throat. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, she continues the motion slowly, carefully. Her thumb brushes across the head and comes away wet and a little sticky. Curiously, it makes it a little easier for her hand to stroke him.

His quiet panting in her ear is strangely arousing, and she thinks that it's kind of great that she can distract him enough that he's forgotten the fact that his fingers are buried in her underwear-ok, a little annoying, but mostly satisfying. She likes that she can have this effect on her normally level-headed weapon. Experimentally, she squeezes him gently, and Soul lets out a shuddering moan.

"Ma _aaah-_ -Maka!"

"Hmm?" she purrs, kissing his jaw.

"It's,  _haaaah_ , been a while, so you might wanna...slow down," he gasps.

She still her hand, and gives him a curious look. "Been a while since what?" Her face is earnest, despite the fact that she's still got one hand firmly secured around his dick.

Soul blinks, unable to discern whether or not she's serious; after a beat, he just gives her a slow smirk and tells her honestly, "Since I jerked it."

"Jerked wh-" He raises an eyebrow, still grinning, and rocks his hips into her hand. " _Oh_ ," she whispers. "Why?"

He shrugs a little and seems to recall at that moment just where one of his hands is. He curls his fingers against Maka and she shudders violently, muscles tensing. "Been a little preoccupied." She moans softly, distracted. "Don't tell me you don't touch yourself."

"M-maybe." It's hard to form words, hard to feel embarrassed when she's still touching him, when his hand caressing her shoots lightning into her veins and along her nerves and leaves her lungs screaming for air.

His grin widens. "How'm I doing, then?" he asks, and rubs  _just so_. She tenses, body arcing into his hand, and  _squeaks_ , voice useless against the onslaught of sensation. Slowly she comes down from her high, face flushed, chest heaving. She turns glazed eyes on him.

"'salright," she manages to slur and he gives her a mock scowl.

"Just 'alright'?"

"Practice makes perfect," Maka grins, recovered enough to resume her impromptu handjob. Soul jerks forward, burying his face in her neck.

"Haah, Maka-what did I tell you about that?" His hips jerk erratically, and she takes pity on him and lets him go. She looks up at him, still smiling, her eyes bright.

"Maybe we can solve that problem?" she asks. There is only a trace of hesitance in her voice, and Soul swallows thickly.

"Are you sure?"

In response, she shimmies out of her panties and kicks them away. Bare before him, heart in her throat, she nods. Soul is speechless, eyes glued to slightly damp skin. He trails reverent fingers across her flesh-along her collarbone, between her breasts and down her stomach, leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. Maka shivers.

Her senses are heightened. She can feel the air between them, hear every soft intake of breath Soul makes as he shifts his body. He slips between her thighs slowly, carefully, and he's  _so close_.

He looks at her again and she pretends not to notice the slight quaver in his voice. "C-condom...I should stop-" Maka squirms, rubbing against him.

"Don't you fucking dare."

"But-"

"Pill," she gasps as he rocks forward just so.

Soul kisses her then, soft and slow as he nudges her entrance. She focuses on the kiss and tries not to tense up. A moment later, Soul breaks the kiss and gives her a sheepish look.

"Help?"

She gives him a shy smile and reaches for his cock. It takes more maneuvering that either of them had anticipated, and with some hissing and giggling, they finally hit just the right angle, and Soul slips inside her. Despite her best intentions, she stiffens, unused to the intrusive feeling. Above her, Soul freezes. She can feel his muscles trembling.

"You ok?" he asks.

Maka winces a little and shifts, knees widening. "Just gimme a minute," she mumbles. There is still pain, but slowly it lessens, and she places a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. He twists his head and captures her lips, and Maka can feel some more tension drain from her body. She rolls her hips experimentally, and he groans into her mouth, thrusting shallowly.

She responds enthusiastically, and they quickly find a rhythm. Maka braces her hands on Soul's forearms, fingers tracing along the tensing muscles there as he pants in her ear, hips rocking furiously. She meets him halfway, caught up in the feel of him inside her, in his breath, the salt of his skin against her tongue and the half-gasped sounds of her name coming from his lips. She wraps long legs around his hips and he shudders.

"M-maka-I told you I wasn't going to last long," he grunts, face caught somewhere between ecstasy and embarrassment. She does  _something_ then, with her hips and her mouth and her voice against his neck, and Soul can't help himself, can't control the way his skin burns and his muscles shake as he comes undone, hips jerking wildly.

He manages not to collapse on top of his meister, but only barely. His arms give out and he rolls to the side, pulling out and gasping for breath. They exchange glances, and Maka can't help the huge grin that spreads across her face. She doesn't have a name for this feeling; it's everything she wanted, but nothing like what she expected, and she's somewhere between scared that this is going to change everything and euphoric because  _this changes everything_.

Sometime in the midst of their activities, Soul's glasses had finally taken the dive right off his nose. He hadn't noticed,neither had Maka until they lay there together, still exchanging casual touches. She feels something prod her shoulder blade and she frowns, squirming.

"What the hell-" She twists and Soul chokes back a laugh, rescuing his reading glasses from underneath her. Maka shoots them a glare.

Soul gives up and laughs, plunking his glasses onto her nose. They are way too huge for her face, and she has to cross her eyes a little to see through them. She looks ridiculous, but even still, Soul can kind of understands Maka's fixation on glasses. She blinks up at him.

"Well?"

"You look like a total dork," he chuckles, and tries not to think of those glasses and her hair in its normal pigtails with her regular short plaid skirt and white button down. There are fixations and  _fixations_ , and Soul would like to be able to operate on a day to day basis without popping a boner every time his meister pulls off the schoolgirl look.

She scowls at him, blinking owlishly. "Well, at least I don't actually  _have_ to wear glasses," she snaps. He doesn't stop grinning, and her irritation grows. She moves to take off the glasses when his hand stops her.

"Ah, ah. You didn't let me finish. You're  _my_ dork," he says, punctuating his words with a lingering kiss to her throat. "My incredibly smart," his lips ghost along her jaw, "amazingly sexy, dork," he finishes, pecking the tip of her nose. Maka rolls her eyes, but that doesn't stop her smile.

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbles, face pink. She manages to slip the frames back on Soul. "They still look better on you."

He smirks. "I know." Maka chops him lightly, and he continues with an eyebrow waggle, "but they'd look better on the floor."

"Oh my god,  _really_."

He laughs, and she giggles. They're curled up together on his bed, and Soul can't take his eyes off of Maka. She snorts with laughter, nose scrunching and shoulders shaking, and Soul realizes he's got another secret, one that he doesn't think he can keep.

"I love you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing something that came out of a silly little one-off comment and some truly hilarious conversations. Huge thanks to Marsh of Sleep, Lueur d'Laube, and AdulterClavis, who helped me bounce around ideas, and everyone at GW who agreed that glasses are, in fact, super hot. <3


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